it to the church. Where on earth did you get to?’
‘Where do you think I got to?’ Tabitha noticed his haughty demeanour was somewhat softened when he addressed his mother. ‘I was working.’
‘But it’s Saturday,’ Marjory protested. ‘Not that that ever stopped you, Zavier. But that’s quite enough about work—I, for one, intend to enjoy myself today. Have you met Tabitha, Aiden’s darling, er…’ the pause was interminable, but Marjory eventually recovered. ‘…er, friend?’
Aiden took a hefty swig of his drink, avoiding Tabitha’s eyes. Only Zavier’s gaze stayed steadily trained on her.
‘Briefly, in the church.’ He offered his hand and she shook it gingerly, noticing how hot and strong his grip was.
‘Where’s Lucy?’ Marjory asked.
‘Amy,’ Zavier corrected, ‘is touching up her make-up.’
‘Lovely girl,’ Marjory said warmly. ‘She’d make a beautiful bride.’
‘Subtle as a brick, as always,’ Zavier groaned.
‘Well, what choice do I have? I’ve got two sons in their thirties,’ she said, her eyes on Tabitha, ‘and not even the tiniest hint at a wedding, let alone grandchildren. Simone’s barely twenty; no wonder Carmella’s grinning from ear to ear.’
‘The reason she’s grinning is because Simone’s actually managed to nab someone rich enough to get them out of debt—not because of her daughter’s eternal happiness.’
‘Ahh!’ Marjory wagged a playful finger. ‘Being out of debt practically ensures eternal happiness.’
‘For you, perhaps,’ Zavier quipped. ‘Anyway, given that you can’t even get Amy’s name right, I think that says a lot for your motives. Forget it.’
‘It would make your father so proud.’
Tabitha was actually enjoying the conversation. She liked the gentle verbal sparring between mother and son, and even Zavier didn’t seem so formidable up against the feisty Marjory. But as she mentioned his father suddenly the temperature seemed to drop, and the affectionate, teasing reply that Tabitha eagerly awaited never came. Zavier Chambers, the epitome of confidence, suddenly seemed lost for words.
‘It would, Zavier,’ Marjory said, a note of urgency in her voice. ‘It’s your father’s dearest wish.’
‘What’s your father’s dearest wish?’ All eyes turned as Amy appeared. Immaculate, gorgeous, wafting expensive perfume, she sidled up to Zavier and wrapped her arm around him. But Zavier barely acknowledged her presence. ‘What did I miss, darling?’ Amy persisted in a low, throaty purr.
‘Nothing,’ Zavier said darkly, shooting his mother a warning look. ‘At least nothing that you have to worry about, Amy.’ And, extracting himself from her clutches, he nodded to the photographer who was hovering on the sidelines. ‘I think we’re wanted.’
Even though she had just checked her make-up, Amy whipped out a mirror from her bag and started dabbing at her lips.
‘Come on, Tabitha.’ Aiden beckoned, but Tabitha shook her head.
‘You go. I’m hardly family.’
‘What’s that got to do with it? Come on.’
But Tabitha was insistent. Immortalising a lie seemed wrong, somehow. ‘The photographer said family only. Please, Aiden, don’t make me feel any worse about this.’
‘You’ll be all right on your own for five minutes?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Aiden, just go. They’re all waiting.’
Sipping on her drink, she watched as they all lined up; it was easy to tell which side they all belonged to. The Chamberses reminded Tabitha of a Mafia movie—all their suits seemed darker, all the men taller, all their hair cut just that little bit more neatly. The fatal combination of money and a perfect gene pool—only Aiden didn’t quite fit in with the masses. His features were gentler, his gestures more expressive than the tight-lipped brooding looks of his relatives. Zavier stood out also. If the Chambers family were a formidable bunch then Zavier was the pinnacle—taller, darker, and, from the reverent way everyone treated him, the most powerful.
‘So you’ve been relegated to the role of bystander as well?’
Startled, Tabitha turned, only then registering that Amy wasn’t up there amongst them.
‘It’s a bit early in the piece for me to start appearing in family albums,’ Tabitha said lightly, somewhat taken aback that someone so famous was actually talking to her.
‘And a bit late in the piece for me; I think I’ve just been dumped.’
‘Oh.’
‘Bloody Chambers.’ The sob in Amy’s voice was one of raw anguish, and Tabitha watched, startled, as tears slid down the oh-so famous face. With a strangled cry she attempted to run off, but soft grass combined with six-inch heels didn’t make for a dignified exit, and Tabitha cringed as she watched her trip away. ‘It’s the effect I have on women,’ Zavier quipped as he joined Tabitha. ‘They can’t get away quickly enough.’
‘What on earth did you say to her?’ Tabitha asked, even though she knew it was none of her business.
‘Not much. I just pointed out it was pretty stupid for her to be in the family photo when she wasn’t going to be around long enough for the films to be developed.’
‘But that’s horrible,’ Tabitha gasped. ‘Couldn’t you have finished with her in a nicer way?’
Zavier shrugged. ‘Believe me, I tried. Unfortunately she either didn’t want to hear it, or it was beyond her comprehension that a man actually might not want her.’
Tabitha stole a closer look, and knew it must be the former. Zavier had a haughty, effortless arrogance that must be a natural by-product when you were so beautiful. And beautiful just about summed him up: an immaculate prototype that left all others as a pale comparison. No wonder Amy hadn’t wanted to hear it was over. To have known such perfection, no matter how briefly, would ensure a lifetime addiction.
He didn’t seem remotely bothered by her scrutiny, and calmly stood as Tabitha surveyed him. Only when she realised the pause had gone on far too long and that she was obviously staring did Tabitha flush, instantly snapping back to the conversation in hand. She was cross at herself for being caught unguarded, and the scorn in her voice came easily. Gorgeous he might be, but beauty was only skin-deep, and it would serve her well to remember that fact.
‘Well, I think you treated her appallingly.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘My, you do get worked up easily, don’t you? I assume that hair colour didn’t come out of a bottle, then?’ Picking up a mass of curls, he pretended to examine them as Tabitha stood burning with indignation. Suddenly he was close, far too close for comfort, the dark pools of his eyes so near she could see the tiny sapphire flecks in them.
‘Of course it didn’t.’ Flicking his hand away, she felt her hair tumble down over her shoulders. The brush of his
